


A Doctor's Touch

by my_dear_man



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff and Angst, Guilt, Hallucinations, Hand Jobs, Love Confessions, M/M, Sick Sherlock, Sickfic, Unresolved Emotional Tension, taking care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-12 23:32:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11747448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_dear_man/pseuds/my_dear_man
Summary: "I will be there, you may be sure."I was ill at that time but not on the brink of my death bed, a nasty flu was the case, and yet, he came by to our old rooms, like the good doctor that he is and ever will be.





	A Doctor's Touch

I am, by nature, strong and healthy. I cannot recall the last time I have been so utterly sick to the point that I have to carry a box of napkins whenever I am needed for a case. Well, one horrendously chilly January morning, my body was not at its finest state and thus, finally surrendered to the damned weather.

The symptoms of a flu that I have read seemed simple, straightforward and most definitely tolerable for any full grown man of my age and body.

Ah, but to experience it is the key to understanding it. Enduring it was another challenge by itself.

My nose could not stay dry even for a single second, my eyes watery and the tears would roll down my sunken eyes whenever I blink, my throat scratchy and swallowing became a tiresome task, my appetite gone with the freezing wind, my muscles ached, my chest heaved tirelessly so that my poor lungs could fill itself with air. My head sensitive to even the slightest of noise. The awful feeling of a fever was the cherry on top of my misery. 

It was pathetic but it was bound to happen.

My mother-like landlady saw me in my most dreadful state. It pained me to see her in such distress and so I smiled even if my body ached, heating up from the lack of fluid that it needed. It fascinated me that she didn't hesitate one bit of asking me that one crucial question; 

"Shall I call for Dr. Watson, sir?"

'Yes. Yes, the good doctor. The poor chap who seems to turn up whenever I need him the most. He is always there, by my side like those of my loyal and handy revolver. Good old, Watson. It puzzles me so. Will he never tire of me? Surely, he has a life of his own to lead. He has his own practice to tend to and a mere flu should not have him racing down the streets for my sake. No, he should not burden himself for he has other patients who deserved his gentle care rather than my greedy self. He is a good doctor, my Watson.'

I must admit that when one is having a fever, it is hard for one's brain to place certain thoughts into certain places. Things become muddled and I feel as though I was rambling within my mind. I have made my decision, it was clear as daylight, but, somehow, my heart yearned for my Watson. The answer fell from my lips as easily as a bee is swooned by a blossoming flower.

"Yes, please, bring him here." I wheezed.

* * *

 "I am glad that your illness is real this time and not one of your ridiculous ploys to lure a villain so that he confesses his sins to you."

Ah, the great case of 'The Dying Detective.' I had to chuckle at the thought for Watson really did have a talent for creating the most absurd of tittles. My rumbling chuckle soon dissolved into a fit of coughing. Watson was quick to rub me by the back and not a minute after, the cold metal end of his stethoscope was on my back, inspecting my breathing patterns as well as my heartbeat for any signs of something more sinister.

He breathed out a sigh and told me that it was nothing more than a flu. I was grateful for that but it didn't made me any better from the news. He instructed me to lie back down in my bed and so I did. I eyed at the steaming bowl of whatever it was that my landlady has brewed for me to eat. Watson noticed my glare towards the dish.

"Are you hungry?"

"No, but I can deduce that I will most likely have to swallow that muck and you being the one to stuff it down my throat." My voice hoarse from the irritable itchiness which I felt in my throat and my mouth dry as ever.

"I will do no such thing. Besides, you will eventually hurl it back out if your throat does not find it welcoming enough. In this case, tea is the best treatment for a sore throat and yours might be red by now, judging by your voice."

Watson handed me a cup and the hot drink was pleasant around my hands. It was soothing, really. The tea running down my throat, easing the pain as it continued its journey to my empty stomach. I breathed a sigh of relief and in return, I opened my eyes to see my doctor, his blue ocean like eyes gazing at me. The sight left me defenceless and soon I felt my cheeks turning more scarlet than before. I was glad that he mistook my reddening cheeks for a fever.

Watson gave a startled cry when his rough hand felt my burning forehead and quickly summoned for a bowl of cold water and a small towel. 

"Holmes, go to sleep and rest up. I will be here when you wake up." 

"You always do." I whisper and I fell into a deep and dreamless slumber.

* * *

 I woke up so suddenly due to my growling belly and realised that I needed to eat, I was hungry. Beside my bed was Watson, enjoying one of his beloved adventure novels. So engrossed in fact, that he didn't notice that I was fully awake. 

"Hungry?" He asked.

"Practically starving." I answered as I presented him with a weak smile.

He was like a mother hen. He fed me, one spoon full after the other with hot porridge that tasted like absolutely nothing. It was my blocked nose that gave me the disadvantage of taste but I was too weary to complain. Instead, I decided to comply with Watson. Opening my mouth when told so and swallowing slowly so that I may not choke. My mind was still foggy from sleep so it was a surprise for Watson to see me so willing to yield under his care. At times, I hated his fussing. Whenever a wound is visible or even a simple bruise, he would come tumbling by my side, his medical bag in his steady grip and his hands putting every effort he could to heal me. 

I am, by nature, a stubborn man. I know that I have caused countless distress and sorrow to him due to my radical actions of a case, my bad habits of cocaine, my cigars, my foul moods, my three years of exile. Those lonely memories of his absence were suddenly flashing through my mind like sparks of a dying flame. My heart was beating as if weeping with regret. Those years I could have spent and those words I should have said. I could feel a lump in my throat and quickly I hid it with a cough.

_The fever is making you an emotional fool. Stop now. You are allowing emotions to cloud your rational mind. Stop now before you lose yourself. Before you lose him._

The small voice inside my head guided me but I seemed to be failing.

I laid down once more between the sheets with my belly now half full but my mind and body still heating up from the fever. My breathing took form of short breathes. I flinched when Watson placed a cold towel on my forehead but quickly he shushed me as he patted my arm, seeing the panic in my eyes must have gave him a fright. 

"Shush, old boy. It is only a cold towel. It will help you with the fever."

My brain was scrambling like an egg under a hot sun and so my heart began to ache for the answers that my brain could not give. The little voice argued with me but I did not care anymore. It was the truth that I seek and the guilt inside me as if eating away at my heart. I ask him the things that I have sealed away long after these feelings for him took shape.

"Why are you so kind to me, my dear Watson?"

"Is it not normal for a friend to care for one another when they are sick, Holmes?"

"I do not know such a friend as you that would go to such a length as me. Watson, I have a commonplace flu, it is nothing worth your time."

He was silent and so, I press forward.

"Watson. I don't think I have been a good friend lately. Look at how much pain I have caused you during my absence for three years. Pray, tell me, what did I do to receive such affection from you?"

My speech became slurred and the feeling of drowsiness wrapped itself around me like a mother cradling a child. I needed answers so I ignored the tug of sleep. Afraid that he might have gone downstairs, I called out to him.

"Watson? John. Are you still there?"

A strong hand grasped my own with a tight squeeze and I could recall, faintly the familiar scent of my companion filling my head. I remember, what could have been his soft lips tasting my own and his mustache that tickled my upper lip. He kissed me so gingerly like he was afraid that I might break in his arms. Watson was on top of me while I was still flat on my back but I wanted more of this fevered dream. I wanted more of him. Would it be greedy of me to call him my own? My emotions thrashed wildly inside of me like an animal, ready to devour its victim. Suddenly, I was weeping softly. My bare self, lay ugly in front of him. I saw in his eyes pain and it mirrored my own.

"Someday, you will grow tired of me. You will want a normal life. You will find another wife- another lovely wife. You will have children, I am sure. I- John- I am afraid. You will leave me- leave me and it scares me beyond logic." 

Yes, I remember myself crying. It must have been a pitiful sight to witness. I opened my eyes to see him. He was smiling, a smile so tender, so merciful, so kind. I knew instantly that it was his. 

"Dear Holmes, I will never grow tired of you. Whatever pain you cause me, I will readily forgive. You have never harmed me. Sherlock. I do not think I am capable of leaving you nor will I allow it if you wish me to abandon you. You are ill and I will see to it that you are healthy again, eating, mastering your violin, solving a murder, showing kindness in your own subtle ways. Haven't I said this before? _'It is my greatest joy and privilege to help you.'"_  

Ah, yes, I remember.

He kissed me again to silence me and it did. I groaned when his kisses grew lustful and erratic. His tongue plunging the insides of my heated mouth and I could taste only him and surprisingly, a hint of brandy. My fevered body, dizzy with desire as I pulled him down on top of me, his weight resting against my heaving chest. We broke apart, gasping for air and wishing for so much more. My entire body squirming under his tender touch.

"Holmes, you are ill. This could be harmful for you. We must stop." He was about to leave me and I grabbed his hand with a pleading tone in my cracking voice.

"No. No, please don't stop. This might all just be a lucid dream. I need you with me. This could all be a dream and none of us would be the wiser."

"My dear man, this is as real as yourself." He kissed my hand like a gentlemen would and went over to my bedroom door to securely fasten the lock. Both my arms were reaching out for him as blindly as a child would do in search of its mother. "John." His Christian name was music to my own ears. 

I felt the mattress shift beneath me and I know that my Watson was above me, pinning me like a prey. I could feel his arousal that was straining through his trousers and slowly he rolled his hips beneath me with our hard pricks rubbing against each other in search for sweet relief with only the layers of clothing that kept us apart. I could not stifle a helpless moan that escaped my lips for the sensation itself was like a drug. I realised that I have not indulged in my own sexual needs for a long time and the need was building steadily inside me. Watson, gentle as a nurse, pushed my nightshirt upwards, revealing my bare pale chest. He bent down, rewarding my eager flesh with his feather-like kisses. Each kiss sent a jolt through me, I was sensitive to every little detail that he might present me.

He teased me so. He loves teasing me. But, I was shaking, my lithe body trembling and I gasped when those rough hands of his found my pink nipples. I was breathing hard and my hips thrusting desperately forward for more heat, more friction, more, more. Watson's kisses trailed downwards from my flushed chest to the tense muscles of my stomach and further still until he stopped near my hard cock. He pushed down my pants, leaving only my drawers exposed. My prick standing on attention, almost begging to be taken into my doctor's care. 

"John, hurry please."

"Have you ever-"

"No. None whatsoever, my dear."

I smiled for I know he will enjoy the things he would graciously do to me. His eyes brighten as if his passion had rekindled itself into a burning fire. He gave an experimental suck on my cock through the fabric of my drawers and he was rewarded with a whimper as my hands clenched the blankets beneath me. The feeling was overwhelming and I feared I might faint before I could reach my orgasm.

"Keep going, John. I want that beautiful mouth of yours."

When he finally freed my oozing prick from my drawers and welcomed me into the warmth of his mouth, I gave out a startled moan for the feeling was entirely alien to me. His tongue swirled around the head of my prick and his hand pulling at the base of my cock, urging me to fuck his mouth. Use him to my liking. My wandering hands found his head and he hummed in approval as my hands settled on his dusty golden hair. My hips started thrusting involuntarily into his mouth and I was afraid that I might hurt him with this act.

"Ah, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It felt lovely. I can't stop, John." 

He did not stop sucking me, swallowing me almost entirely until his nose brushed at my course hair. I continued to spout out apologies for what, I did not know and my moans and whimpers became continuous as my climax was nearing its peak. My thighs spread further apart and the feeling of his soft tongue beneath the column of my cock was intoxicating. His hands gripped tight on my hips so as to steady my writhing body.

"Ah, John, more. Your mouth. Oh, it's heavenly. I'm close! I'm so close!" I moaned.

Watson moaned around my cock and I realised that his other hand found itself between his thighs, rubbing himself without shame, rutting into my mattress as he sucked me dry. I groaned aloud to the mere sight of my Watson with his sweet mouth suckling my leaking prick and his blue eyes hooded and tear filled. I sobbed out his name. I prayed that this was not a dream and that he really was doing all these filthy things to me. He sucked down hard and finally my prick spurted out my emission, filling his mouth until he was swallowing it down, coaxing it more with each tug of his slippery hands. I gasped at my bedroom ceiling, crying out that I loved him. I loved him so. He kissed me and I greedily explored the taste of myself on his swollen lips. 

It took me a great two minutes to focus my blurred vision as well as my racing heart to find its normal rhythm once more. I looked down to see a wet patch on the front of his trousers and he was panting heavily. He was shaking like a newborn fawn and his eyes half lidded with his thumb brushing the bottom of my lip.

"You're a wonder, my love. How could I possibly leave your side?"

"Let me-" I whispered as I bit the crook of his neck and he gasped out in response. My hands fumbled with his flies and drawers, seeking out his hard iron length. He was heavy and hard in my hands and practically leaking without signs of stopping. 

"Frig me, Sherlock. Frig me, please. Your lovely hands. I've- I've dreamed of this."

He cupped my face and brought his forehead against mine, his eyes shut tight and his mouth opened for my own plunder. My hand curled around him and I started pulling, tugging and rubbing the hard wet length of his throbbing prick. His hips pushing into my grip with no grace, mimicking the act sodding me, gasping in between his words.

"Oh Holmes. It feels good! Sherlock. May I come? Oh please, faster, my love!"

His prick, red and almost fit to burst from my manipulations. I gave him one final deep kiss so that I may swallow the groans that came forth from his mouth and he came on my belly with a full body shudder, hips bucking against my stomach, his seed dripping from his softening cock. He kissed me and whispered something I could not catch.

I felt him roll beside me, wet and sticky with sweat and our mingled seeds. The scent of both our sex still lingered between us and my head heavy with only one thought; sleep.

I fell asleep with a familiar heat radiating beside me. His arms pulling me close, his legs tangled with my own hairy ones and I could hear his breaths.

It was soothing, really.

* * *

I woke up to the feeling of a wet cloth dragging across my stomach and the sounds of dripping water. My body still sore and it ached but I was smiling like an idiot when my eyes fell onto your loving face. You saw me and your eyes widened with joy. 

"Are you alright? I hoped that yesterday's activities have not weakened you. I made sure to clean you up. Holmes, I really was worried. You might have fainted from the heat or exhaustion."

"I am alright, Watson. You fuss too much."

"Well, of course I do! I was awfully worried."

I sat up and pulled him into my embrace. I held onto his waist with my grip still weak but I was able. I breathed in his scent while my head was still spinning, throbbing even but I couldn't care less. My head rested on his good shoulder and I hummed.

"Holmes, you must -"

"Yes. Yes. I'll be sure to rest. I'll be sure to eat properly. You'll be here, I know. You tend to my wounds, you tolerate with my moods, you lift my spirits. Watson. John. I admire you. I love you. I love you so very much."

I felt him smile and he continued to care for me, like that good doctor that he is.

 

-fin-

**Author's Note:**

> “It is a universal truth that we take the good things in life for granted, the good people in life. Until they are no longer there, and then we miss them. We miss them very much.” - The Last Act, Big Finish


End file.
